Truth was first casualty of 1928 war on the waterfront

John Silvester and Andrew Rule

As one of the first soldiers to land at Gallipoli, Allan Whittaker knew there was a good chance he could die in a volley of gunfire where the sea meets the shore.

But, having survived a Turkish bullet on that foreign beach, he would never have imagined the fatal shot would be fired on a Port Melbourne pier by a policeman in peacetime. Or that the shameful facts surrounding his death would be hidden more than 80 years.

Time for a cuppa: Police take a break before dealing with the unionists on Princes Pier in 1928.

Whittaker was one of hundreds of waterside workers protesting against the use of scab labour on the docks when he was shot at close range with a police revolver.

While the Eureka Stockade uprising is a pivotal part of Australian history, little is known of the bloody battle on Princes Pier.

What is known is that the media, police, government and judiciary of the day conspired to cover up the real events of the 1928 riots. Tomorrow, close to where Whittaker fell, a group of activists will gather, determined to unearth the truth.

In 1928, Whittaker was painted as a member of a violent mob (although there is no evidence he acted violently) and his war record was ignored. Even his wounds were initially described in a newspaper as ''trifling''.

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The official version was that he was shot in the face and that the bullet exited through his neck. But there is compelling evidence he was shot in the back of the neck. Either way, it took him nearly three months to die.

It is not just old unionists and history buffs who have taken up the cause. A speaker at tomorrow's commemoration is the son of a waterside worker with more than a passing interest in the law. He is the former Supreme Court judge Frank ''The Tank'' Vincent.

Justice Vincent examined the original inquest that found Whittaker's death was ''justifiable homicide'' and concludes in appropriate judge-speak that the fix was well and truly in.

Big Frank comes off the long run when he says, ''At best, the inquest emerges as surprisingly superficial in its investigation of one of the most dramatic events in the country's industrial history and, at worst, as suggesting a deliberate avoidance of the full exposure of what had taken place.''

Allan Whittaker was one of the first Australians to enlist in WWI and one of the first shot - at 8.30am on the first day of the Gallipoli landing. He spent 80 days in an Egyptian hospital before returning to Australia with an honourable discharge and permanent limp. He was the lucky one of the three Whittaker brothers who went to war.

Percy was wounded three times on the front line. Cecil died in the muddy French battlefields in 1918.

When Allan recovered he worked on the docks - when there was work to be had. The dockies would muster twice a day and compete for work.

Pay and conditions had eroded and a conservative prime minister - Stanley Bruce - was determined to smash union influence on the docks (although no one would later throw shoes at him).

Tension rose as non-union workers were given work and an angry protest began on November 2 after 1000 union members were ignored in favour of labour workers, brought in under police protection.

The chief commissioner of the time, Tom Blamey, was no union man. Although a Gallipoli survivor, too, he had no problems setting his men against the protesters, many of whom were war veterans.

According to Bob Haldane's seminal text on the Victoria Police, The People's Force, ''Blamey was quick to side with capital against labour and quick to crush public protest. He issued a direction that any unemployed people marching through Melbourne and causing a breach of the peace were to be 'hit over the head'.

''It could be said . . . that Blamey's style of dealing with public protest was confrontationist, readily violent, and generally ruthless.''

Your correspondents have to agree. A great-uncle of one of them once confided that as a young mounted policeman he and his colleagues were issued with ''new pick handles'' to use on the striking wharfies.

Blamey may have ended up an army field marshal but his 11 years as chief commissioner were dogged by controversy. He had been in the job only a few weeks when accused of being caught on the job in a Fitzroy brothel.

When police raided the establishment, a patron said: ''That is all right, boys. I am a plain-clothes constable.''

This was a slight exaggeration as he was, in fact, a no-clothes constable. He produced the chief commissioner's identification - Badge 80. Where he had hidden the badge remains a mystery as the gentleman was without trousers at the time.

Blamey later claimed he was not the naked man and that his badge had been stolen, then mysteriously returned - to his mailbox at his city club.

Back at Princes Pier hundreds of angry union workers chased the ''scabs'' who had taken their jobs.

There were 27 police officers there that morning and it turned ugly with unionists throwing pieces of discarded metal and savagely kicking one constable.

According to Justice Vincent, ''There can be no doubt that the confrontation was extremely violent, with the police using batons and firing shots into the air to drive the men from the wharf and restore order.''

Evidence suggests the policeman in charge beat an elderly worker with a cane. This inflamed the crowd and he ordered his troops to fire - either directly at the unionists or in front of their feet.

No evidence was led at the inquest that Whittaker was a threat to police. They suggested he was hit by a ricochet, although there is a forensic argument he was shot in the neck while turned away from the police.

One witness said he took the badly injured man to the officer in charge and asked for an ambulance.

The policeman allegedly responded: ''Take the bastard away and look after him. Look after him and we will look after ours.''

The coroner was ''assisted'' by a policeman who refused to vigorously cross-examine witnesses. The fact that police shot three other unionists on the pier was not even raised.

According to Vincent, the police assistant would have been expected ''to protect those involved and the reputation of the police force itself''.

Within hours of the shooting Blamey (trousers on this time) seemed to have no doubts. ''I have no hesitation in saying that the action of the officer in charge was fully justified.''

Vincent concludes: ''I think that it is safe to infer that, as far as the government and police were concerned … there (was) little interest in conducting a comprehensive and possibly embarrassing public inquiry.''